


Dirty Little Secrets

by mynameisnoneya



Series: Dirty Little Birdy [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Characters Reading Fanfiction, Characters Writing Fanfiction, Computer Guys, Confrontations, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Love/Hate, Mild Language, Office Jobs, Office Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 18:45:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13059933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mynameisnoneya/pseuds/mynameisnoneya
Summary: By day, Sansa Stark is a mild-mannered employee in the Marketing Department of Lannister Industries.  By night, she is an author of countless raunchy fanfiction works inspired by her favorite television show,Game of Drones.Thinking that she will never get caught by her employers if she secretly keeps her files on her work computer, Sansa undergoes one hell of a day as she tries to figure out how to get her company-owned laptop back from her arch nemesis in the IT Deparment, Sandor Clegane, before her secret is revealed to all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired and requested by a Tumblr friend, @carobaldoni. I'm posting the six-chapter work in its entirety today since it is her birthday. Happy birthday, @carobaldoni - I hope you enjoy this crazy little story about how two people who pretend to hate each other finally come together!
> 
> Please note that I made sure to tag any and all characters that appear in this work, whether they have a speaking role or not. 
> 
> General disclaimer: GoT characters and quotes belong to GRMM - I own nor claim nothing!
> 
> If you enjoyed this work, please let me know by leaving comments and kudos!

 

Pacing anxiously in the breakroom of Lannister Industries, gritting her teeth as she strode the length of the deserted room for the umpteenth time, Sansa Stark was quite positive that at any given minute, her entire head would absolutely and unequivocally explode.  For months now, Sansa had been harboring a guilty little pleasure on her company’s computer.  Although time and time again she had meant to swipe those naughty nuggets off her hard drive once and for all, Sansa never assumed that she had any pressing need to rush.  However, when she reported for duty this morning in the Marketing Department of the enormous conglomerate, Sansa realized far too late that there indeed had been a sense of urgency of which she had not privy.

Without warning to the staff at large, the nerds in the tech department had descended in the wee hours of the night, long after the rest of the employees were fast asleep, and like a bunch of geeky secret-spy assassins, they had quietly removed every piece of desktop computing power within the entire building, all on the direct orders of corporate, who had called them in to try to solve the mystery of a sudden malware invasion attacking the company’s server.

And that could only mean one thing.

Any moment now, Sansa’s dirty little secret would be exposed.

Fanfiction.

Yes, Sansa Stark, the prim, proper, straight-laced young woman who always minded her courtesies and outwardly projected herself like a true highborn lady loved nothing more than to wallow in the deep, deep quagmire of online smut, gleefully reading and writing countless tales of erotica and various forms of hardcore porn.

_Think, Sansa, think…_

Against her better judgment and the sound of advice of Margery Tyrell, her colleague and fellow fanfic aficionado, Sansa had been churning out countless one-shots and longer tales during business hours when she was supposed to be analyzing market research and compiling statistics for the head honchos.  The problem was not that Sansa was writing drabbles and the like, really.  Her performance on the job was always above-board, her reports meticulously researched and annotated, presented in the appropriate color-coded and superiorly cross-referenced format as required.

For Sansa, the problem with writing fanfiction was that she had made one seriously heinous rookie error.  She had failed to maintain that much-needed buffer between her passion for writing and her need for gainful employment.  Instead of saving her work on a flash drive or on her own personal computing system, Sansa had been careless; she had been saving her fiction on her corporate-owned laptop because her upload speed was substantially faster here at the office than at home.  She had become lazy, keeping her files stored on her work computer so she could transfer her raunchy masterpieces directly to her online fanfiction account with much greater ease.

Faster uploads meant faster kudos.

But now, as Sansa all but spoke in tongue and gnashed her teeth, she faced the cold, hard reality that at this very minute, some gamer goober was probably locked away in the bowels of the building down in the tech department, jacking off to one of her recently discovered epic sagas of lust, longing, and light bondage.

“Would you please sit down already?” Margaery sighed heavily, watching her tall, redheaded best friend mercilessly pace the length of the breakroom.

“How can you be so calm?” Sansa squeaked.  Her pumps smacked the black and white checkered linoleum like a herd of angry elephants, pausing long enough to rub her crystal blue eyes in frustration.  “I’m so going to get fired over this.  God, if only I had listened to you…”

“Well, it’s too late to worry about that now.”  Margaery sighed again, shaking her head and brushing her long, blond hair off her shoulders.

“Oh, God, I can just see Cersei’s face now. . .” Sansa groaned.  Releasing her eyeballs, she resumed her back and forth march of doom.  “Ever since I dumped her sadistic little jerk son, Cersei has had it in for me.  She’s always looking for a way to undermine me in staff meetings.  Ugh, how could I have been so stupid!  This is _exactly_ what she needs to get me fired!”  Sansa was coming up dry on how to explain herself to her supervisor once the truth about what was stored on her computer was finally revealed.  There really seemed like no way of getting ahead of this terrible, terrible mistake.

“Now, Sansa,” Margaery grinned, “you’re not giving up that easily, are you?”  She uncrossed her shapely legs as she leaned on the small round table where she sat.

“What else can I do?” Sansa snorted with her well-manicured hands waving wildly in the air.  “I mean, _they have my lap top_.  How am I supposed to get my stuff back without them seeing it first?”

Margaery smirked as she rose to her feet, placing her hands coyly on her hips.  “Well, for starters, you don’t even know if they will bother to scan your computer.”

“But. . .”

“If they do, they probably won’t even spend ten minutes messing with it.  They’re looking from some virus, not documents.”

“Yeah?”  Sansa pondered the idea.  “You think so?”

“Sure, I do!,” Margaery nodded.  “Who’s to say that they will even notice your files if they do happen to skim over your hard drive?  Didn’t you tell me you had the files stored in a folder labeled, ‘Recipes?’”

“Uh. . .yeah. . .” Sansa agreed.  That _had_ been a stroke of genius on her part.

“So, you see?  The techies won’t give two shits about your little folder of fics in the first place.”

“You think?”  Sansa blinked rapidly as her friend’s assessment of the situation overtook her.  Maybe Margaery was right.  Maybe the guys down in the dungeon of nerdville wouldn’t think twice about her collection of Word and PDF files.  Maybe she could escape unnoticed after all.

“Then again,” Margaery grimaced, pursing her lips together, “they may go over our laptops with a fine-tooth comb.”

“Oh, God,” Sansa moaned.  She braced herself on the kitchen counter of the breakroom.  Heaven help her but she felt dizzy.  The breakroom was about to spin.  Life as she knew it was about to screech to a highly dramatic and completely embarrassing halt.  Any minute now, she would be called into Cersei Lannister’s office, the chopping block laid out and the ax raised high. . .

Margaery interruped Sansa’s current round of overactive imagination.  “I have an idea.”

“You do?”  Sansa wondered if this was what a near-death experience felt like.

Margaery nodded.  “You’re going to go down to the tech department and fetch your computer.”

“And just how do you propose I manage that?”

“Why, by utilizing your God-given, feminine charms, of course!”

Sansa chewed on her bottom lip for a moment as she mulled over Margaery’s plan.  “My charms. . .”  Her mouth quirked at the corners as she realized the brilliance of her buddy’s scheme.  “I think you’re on to something.”

“Of course, I am,” Margaery laughed.

Sansa resumed her pacing, albeit at a much slower, methodical pace this time.  “So, you think if I go down there and flirt with one of the techies, I can get them to do what I want.”

“Certainly!”

“Well, you and I both know that I’m not the best at flirting. . .”

“We’ve been friends for over a decade, right?” Margaery asked.

“Uh. . .”

“Pretend you’re me.  They won’t stand a chance.”

That statement made Sansa chuckle.  Margaery _was_ the queen of seduction.

“Alright, I’m in,” Sansa said.  She took a deep breath to prepare her mentally for the pending challenge.  Although she was quite proficient at writing seduction, executing it in real life was not something she excelled at.

“Good.  Now let’s rehearse a few things. . .”

Before Margaery could continue, Sansa blurted out suddenly.  “Oh, God.  What if ‘you-know-who’ is down there.  Ugh, I am so not flirting with _that_ giant moron.”

Trying not to let her lips upturn into a grin, Margaery bit the inside of her cheek to hold off her laugh.  “Again, with this?”

“You know he hates me just as much as I hate him,” Sansa huffed indignantly.  “Hateful man.  He’s always making his little snarky comments while pretending to be so damn polite.  ‘Miss Stark’ this; ‘Miss Stark’ that.  Please.  I’ve heard him talking with Bronn and Tormund in the break room when he doesn’t think anyone is listening.  Dude has a foul mouth like -”

“Did you just admit to spying on Sandor?”  Margaery giggled as she shook her head at her ginger friend.

Sansa gasped at the suggestion.  “What?  Me?  Spying on the likes of him?  _Really?_ ”

“Uh-huh,” Margaery sniffed in amusement.

“I don’t like him!”  Sansa pouted, folding her arms in front of her ample bosom.  “He thinks he’s smarter than all of us, stupid techie dork.”

Margaery smiled.  “Still haven’t gotten over him switching out your printer without telling you?”

“No!” Sansa barked, “You see?  He loves messing with me!  Ooo, if I could just - ”

“Okay, okay,” Margaery chuckled as she grabbed Sansa’s forearm, “I’ve heard enough.  Let’s go hole up in my office and work on our plan to get your laptop back so you can escape complete and total humiliation for real, hmm?”

“Fine,” Sansa sniffed petulantly while Margaery drug her along with her, “but God as my witness, I will never, ever in my natural born days flirt with the likes of Sandor Clegane!”

the likes of Sandor Clegane!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa tries her best to work her charms on the techie at the front desk to get her laptop back. Will she succeed, or will her efforts be thwarted?

_You can do this,_ Sansa coached herself as she descended down the multiple levels of Lannister Industries, _you can do this.  Smile and flirt.  Flirt and wink.  Wink and flirt.  You can do this.  You can do this._

As the lift finally reached its destination, Sansa burst out like a woman hell-bent on conquering the world.  Surely, she could pull off this little stunt.  Margaery was right.  These tech guys would fall all over themselves to try to help her.  All Sansa had to do was get one of the unsuspecting geeks wrapped around her finger, ask him to let her have her computer back for an hour or so, download her stories off the hard drive, and boom – she’d be golden.  No one would ever know.  No one would need to know anything about her rampant obsession with the über-popular cable military-themed show, _Game of Drones,_ or her undying dedication to its two protagonists, Rory and Sophie.  And absolutely _no one_ with whom she had any form of reality-based contact would need to see any of her stories about their passionate, extremely erotic couplings that occurred in various modern alternative universes.

Approaching the glass double-doors leading into the Information Technology Department, Sansa took a deliberate, deep breath before shoving her way inside.

“Can I. . .help. . .you?” the heavy-set man behind the front desk bumbled.  He almost dropping his cell phone into his polyester-covered lap upon laying eyes on the leggy redhead.

Sansa smiled widely, flashing her pearly whites while leaning on her forearm at the edge of the counter.  “Hey!  Dontos, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah?” the man replied.  Nervously, he shoved his thick glasses back up his wide nose as he looked at Sansa like he had just seen a ghost.

Sansa continued while tapping her long pink nails on the top of the counter and leaned closer.  “So, _Dontos. . ._ I wanted to thank you for helping me set up the audio-visual equipment last week for my presentation.”

“You. . .you’re welcome?”  Dontos coughed, blinking rapidly as he stared at her.

Taking a slow breath to make sure that her chest expanded nicely, Sansa batted her long lashes at the confused computer guy, inwardly grinning that his beady brown eyes widened in awe when they locked on her ample bosom neatly lifted and presented in her designer-label underwire undergarment.

“You know, I was thinking, since you’re so helpful to ladies in distress,” Sansa continued, “I was wondering if you might do me a favor.”  Nibbling her bottom lip provocatively, she gave herself an internal high-five when the fat man stared at her mouth.

“A favor?”  Dontos’s highly intrigued eyes snapped back to hers.  “What kind of favor?”

“Glad you asked!”  As Sansa winked at him, her stomach churned slightly when Dontos’s bushy eyebrows raised almost to his hairline at her flirty display.  “I was hoping that you could let me have my laptop back for an hour or so.  I just need to grab some data that I collected for a report that is due today, and silly me, I forgot to print it out yesterday before you guys came in last night to collect it.”

“Uh. . .sorry, Sansa,” Dontos muttered.  He shook his head profusely.  “No-can-do.”

“No-can. . .what?  What do you mean?  Why not?”

“Because. . .”  Dontos paused, hushing his voice almost as soon as he started speaking.  He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the coast was clear.  “My boss will have my ass on his chicken sub for lunch if I let anyone near their computers until we’ve run all our diagnostics today.”

“Is that so?”  She smiled in feigned amusement even though the mere suggestion of that infuriatingly gruff man made her blood boil.

Oh, Sansa knew all about Dontos’s boss, all right

She’d had plenty of run-ins with the overgrown ass-munch since she had joined Lannister Industries last year.  Dontos’s boss was the very same painfully terse, overgrown geek who had made her feel like a complete moron for months now when it came to work-related technical difficulties.

In fact, just last week when she couldn’t get her work computer to boot, Sansa had specifically demanded help from anyone in the IT department _but_ that arrogant idiot, but alas, whom should Podrick, the nerd on phone duty that afternoon, dispatch to figure out why her laptop wouldn’t work?  That’s right.  Into her office sauntered the enormous bane of her computing existence.  And of course, all it took to solve the situation was for the freakishly tall guy to reach behind her laptop, merely flicking the “on” switch to rectify the matter.

God, Sansa could still hear his annoying as hell, self-satisfied chuckle ringing in her ears.

“Yeah, for _real._ ”  Dontos snorted a bit too loudly for proper decorum.  “He’s strictly a by-the-book kinda guy.  Follows orders like _nobody’s_ business.”

Steeling her nerves, Sansa quickly glanced about the open floor plan of the IT department.  Several techies were peering over the tops of their cubicles at her, two of whom ducked down out of sight like a frightened turtle the minute that she made eye contact with them.  The entire dork palace, littered with various _Star Wars_ and _Lord of the Rings_ paraphernalia on both desks and walls alike, was silent as stone, save for the whirring sounds of the mainframe and the click-clacking of keyboards in the background.

Looking back at Dontos, who was fidgeting nervously with his Rubik’s cube that was sitting on the corner of his desk, Sansa opted to press the matter further regardless of his boss’s wishes.

“C’mon, Dontos,” she pouted while jutting her hot pink lips out for added effect.  “Please?”

“I really, _really_ wish that I could, Sansa. . .”  Dontos’s chubby hand scratched at his wooly mutton chop.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you.”  She had to choke down the bile that dared to rise in her throat upon actually saying those words.  If it weren’t a matter of standing in line at the unemployment office and facing one hell of an embarrassing exit interview, she would never dream of doing this.  Never.  Ever.

Dontos stalled, once again nervously glancing about the department.  “Well. . .”

Sansa blinked seductively, smiling at the man as she angled her head to the side.  “You like Metallica?”

“Yeah, how did you know?”

“Your t-shirt?”  Sansa’s tone betrayed her annoyance as she pointed to the screen printing on his black cotton tee.

“Oh!  Yeah, right!”  Dontos snorted yet again though at himself this time.  “Yeah, I do!”

“My older brother and his buddy own StarkJoy Management Company,” Sansa said, pausing on purpose to make sure Dontos’s eyes tracked her tongue as it languidly wet her lower lip.  “They help bring in all the big name acts to Winterfell.  Maybe I could ask them to get you free tickets to the concert next month.”

“Really?”  Dontos gasped in amazement.  “You could do that?”

“Sure, I could.”  She shrugged nonchalantly.  “But. . .”

“But _what_?”

“I really, _really_ need my laptop back for just a teeny, tiny bit.”  Sansa smiled at him as she leaned forward on the counter with both arms, letting him get a perfectly unhindered view down her silky white blouse.  Wow, Margaery would be so proud of her right now.

“Uh. . .”  Dontos swallowed hard while gawking at her pale, lightly-freckled breasts.  “Okay, I’ll. . .I’ll go get it for you.”

_Yes!  Bingo!_

“Thank you so much!”  Sansa grinned from ear to ear as the smell of victory wafted in the dank, musty air.  Eagerly, she waited for Dontos to waddle off to go and grab her gear.

But he didn’t move.  Nope, he just sat there glued to his computer chair, ogling her flesh.

“Dontos?” she growled.

“Uh huh?” he sighed wistfully.

“The laptop?”  Sansa rose to her full height, purposefully cutting off his ride on the booby train.

As she stood tall, her formally pleased eyes widened when she realized who was watching her try to snag her computer and run.  Standing not a foot off to the side of Dontos’s desk was the very boss that unnerved every employee not only in his charge but in the entire multimillion dollar corporation.

_Holy moly, that guy is really tall._

“Good day, Miss Stark,” the uncommonly tall man with the shoulder-length black hair greeted her crisply.  He nodded to her politely before glaring down at the now frightened fat man still sitting in front of her.

“Sandor!” Dontos gulped, “I. . .I didn’t see you standing there!”

“I’m well aware of that, Dontos,” the enormous, well-built man with the scarred face in the apple-red polo and form-fitting black dress slacks snarled at his subordinate, “and what, may I ask, is all this business about Miss Stark’s laptop?”

“Uh, I was just. . .I was. . .about that. . .”  Dontos tried to speak, but he was unable to form a coherent thought while under the intense scrutiny of his irritated supervisor.

Sansa tried to shoot Sandor her very best man-killing smile.  “He was just about to let me have my laptop back for an hour or so.”  By the way he raised his dark eyebrow in amusement, she knew that she’d looked at him like she’d just smelled a dead skunk.

Ugh.  She never could hide her true feelings for very long, damn it.

“Is that right?” the highly amused recipient of her miscalculated allure guffawed.  He folded his huge, hairy arms in front of his equally massive chest as he looked again at Dontos.

Dontos held his hands up in surrender.  “No, no!  I was actually telling Sansa that I couldn’t do that!”

Fed up with the entire ordeal, she felt her blood pressure sky rocketing.  She placed both hands on her curvy hips while pretending not to know the huge IT dude’s name just to aggravate him.  “Look. . .it’s Sandor, right?”

No reply.  Nothing.  No response at all.  Just a freezing cold, rock-hard stare from the only pair of silver eyes that Sansa had ever seen.  Damn, this guy was good.  He knew that she knew what his name was.  It didn’t help that she had called him a few choices names in addition to his Christian name during the on-switch incident, but that was beside the point.

“Listen, _Sandor_ ,” Sansa plowed onward, switching tactics mid-stream.  She dug in deep, trying her best to grin seductively at the unamused man without gagging, “I just need to get some data -”

“My apologies, Miss Stark,” Sandor interrupted.  He put out his extremely large hand to stop her from continuing her line of discourse.  “I am required to execute a battery of tests on each and every one of our company’s computers to try to locate the virus that is plaguing our system.  Until those tests are completed, no one has access to their corporate-owned PCs, laptops, iPads, or Notebooks.  Period.”  And with that proclamation, he widened his stance ever-so-slightly and refolded his arms defiantly, almost as if he was preparing to engage her in battle.

A flush of both vexation and chagrin washed over her typically pale countenance.  Sandor wasn’t going for her temptress trick, and judging by his demeanor, pleading her case would continue to fall on deaf ears.  Thankfully, she had one last play in her play book to attempt. Maybe he went for rationality.  All techies were supposed to like logic, right?  Isn’t that what the funny looking guy with the pointy ears in that old sci-fi show that Bran and Rickon watched with their dad always talked about?

“Sandor, please, I really need to have my laptop back to get some data to complete a report.”  Sansa made sure her voice was even-tempered like the consummate business woman she was.  “If I don’t have the data, I can’t finish the report I need to give during my presentation in front of corporate this afternoon.”  Pleased with the way Sandor’s inquisitive gray eyes narrowed at her as she spoke, Sansa went in for the kill.  “So, if you don’t mind, I really, _really_ need to have my computer back.  I know that _I_ wouldn’t want to be the one to cost the Lannisters a few grand just because there is some mystery virus in the building.”

Sandor was a Lannister dog.  Everyone in the company knew it.  Surely, he would heed Sansa’s implicit threat that by hoarding her laptop, he would be the one responsible for costing Tywin and his greedy clan money.  And every one knew that the Lannisters loved money.

“What’s the file name?”  Sandor inquired, breaking her out of her moment of imagined triumph.

“The file name?”  Sansa didn’t know how to respond since she wasn’t sure where his line of questioning was headed.

“Give me the name of the file that you need to finish your report, and I’ll download it onto my personal laptop which I will let you borrow until you get yours back,” Sandor said.  When Sansa’s eyes popped open like a cork at his offer, he smirked.

Sandor had called her bluff.  Damn it, the man had called her bluff and had made it look effortless.

_Fuck!_

“I. . .it’s. . .”

Just then, Sandor’s cell phone rang from the depths of his slacks.

Courteously, he bowed before dropping his arms and reaching for his phone.  “If you’ll excuse me, Miss Stark.  Please let me know if I can be of any further assistance.”  He spun on his dress shoes, stalking toward his office while barking orders at his subordinates over his broad shoulder.   “Dontos!  All of you!  Get back to work!”  With that curt command, the entire gang of onlookers, who had been sneaking a peek at the showdown between their boss and the babe from Marketing, scattered like terrified rats, scurrying about as they feverishly tried to find something useful to do.

“Sorry, Sansa,” Dontos mumbled as he ran his hand through his shaggy brown hair.  “I told you; he’s by.  The.  Book.”

Standing in shocked silence, her mouth hanging open yet unable to make a sound, Sansa watched the giant of a man stomp into his office without closing his door to have a conversation about whatever the hell it is that enormous techies talk about when not wreaking havoc on a fanfic writer’s day.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa wonders what Sandor's up to with his attempt to be nice.

Thoughtlessly drumming her nails on her L-shaped oak pedestal desk, Sansa stared hard out of her office window which overlooked the bustling mid-morning traffic here in downtown King’s Landing.  A full two hours had passed since her humiliating defeat by the stern, stoic man in the IT department.  After licking her wounds in her office for a good thirty minutes, she had engaged in a series of texts with Margaery, trying to come up with a new plan of action to circumvent Sandor Clegane, resident computer Nazi.

As always, Margaery took the news of Sansa’s defeat in stride, finding the whole affair utterly amusing even though Sansa still didn’t think it was all that funny.  After kicking about a few ideas that involved various forms of diversionary tactics and subterfuge, Margaery offered to call in a favor with her favorite new fuck buddy, Bronn, who also happened to be the head of security.  Maybe Bronn could help them gain access to the tech department long enough to swipe Sansa’s computer and to pull her fanfics off the hard drive.  Tempted at first, the normally impatient redhead opted to forgo Margaery’s idea, mostly because Sansa was terrified of what might happen if she were to be caught in the act by that hairy beast of a boss lurking down in the dungeon.

Lost in her thoughts, Sansa began to reflect on what she knew about her self-appointed arch nemesis.  Sandor was impressively huge; he had to be close to seven feet tall.  Not a short woman by any means, Sansa looked abnormally petite when standing next to him.  And his face. . .just. . .wow.  The scars made Sandor look even more impossibly menacing, even when he did crack a smile, which only seemed to occur when Sansa was the butt of one of his many pithy comments.

Thinking about Sandor’s facial scarring made Sansa recall her encounter last summer with Petyr Baelish, one of the in-house legal team members and resident pervert, when the middle-aged attorney had side-winded over to Sansa at the annual company picnic, catching her in the act of blatantly staring at Sandor as he carried an ungodly amount of weight in his arms while helping some of the ladies set up the food tables.  She was surprised to learn that it had been Sandor’s older brother that had intentionally caused Sandor’s burns.  That was why he sported a full beard and longer hair, Petyr had said.  It helped hide the damage.

And speaking of hair, Sandor was hands-down one of the fuzziest men that Sansa had ever seen.  God, did he even _realize_ how much chest hair was floofing out of his open neckline today?  Seriously, Sandor really needed to cover up all that fur.  Well, he should cover it up at work at least.  Not that there was anything wrong with chest hair, obviously.  Chest hair was perfectly normal on a man.  Sexy, even.  But really, though, Sandor ought to know better.  How could that polo even be legal with Human Resources?  Didn’t they have a dress code or something for the dorks downstairs?

Feeling slightly flustered and a tad warm for some unknown reason, Sansa yanked a file folder off her desk, fanning herself as she lopped back in her black leather swivel chair.  Rotating back and forth aimlessly in her seat while gazing blindly out the window, she found herself thinking about her latest update to her brand-new fanfic endeavor, _Blackwater Down:_

_“Sophie, darling,” Rory cried out as he approached his climax, thrusting haphazardly into her velvet sheath as she raked her dagger-like nails down his broad, muscular back._

_“Fuck me harder, baby,” Sophie keened, arching her back, pressing her heaving alabaster mounds into Rory’s hairy, chiseled chest.  “Don’t stop!”_

_Tucked away in an abandoned safe house, the two clandestine lovers found their release as the sounds of the approaching helicopters chop-chop-chopping in the distance signaled the looming threat of enemy fire.  In but a few short moments, the dark haired, ruggedly handsome soldier would leave her, slithering into the darkness of the night to resume his mission.  For now, however, the redheaded MI-5 operative tried her best to block out the inevitable pain of their separation as she clung to her lover like -”_

“Shit!” Sansa almost screeched.  Accidentally, she scooted her rolling chair backward, startled by the unexpected sound of someone knocking on her office door.  Tossing her file folder onto her desk, she tried her best to pat her hair down and get her act together.  “Come in.”

As her office door opened, a handsome young blonde man smiled brightly at her.

“Sansa Stark, I presume?” he asked while still standing in her doorway.  She instantly noticed that he was holding a black laptop under his arm.

“Yes?”  She recognized the handsome guy.  He was one of Sandor’s techie minions.

“I’m Lancel from IT.”  He whipped her laptop from its nestled location in his armpit.  “I was sent to deliver your computer to you.”

“Really?”  Sansa sat bolt-straight in her chair.  “You did?”  The stupefied expression on her face must have been something to behold by the way the handsome geek chuckled as he handed her the computer.  “But I thought it might take days to get these back.”  Her shocked eyes started at the electronic device like it was the Holy Grail.

“Yeah, well, your laptop was bumped to the head of the line.”  Lancel replied as he turned to leave her office.  “Must be your lucky day.”

“Wait!”  Still clutching her computer in both hands, she rested it on her desk.

Without saying anything, Lancel simply turned around to face her.

“Hhow did my laptop jump ahead?  Who authorized that?” Sansa asked.

“I’m not sure.”  Lancel shrugged his shoulders.  “All I know is my boss told me to give him your computer and he would process it himself.”

_What in the. . ._

“Need anything else?”

“Uh, no.  No, I’m good.”

Lancel moved to leave, but before he exited her office, he stopped short, bracing himself on her doorframe.  “Oh, I almost forgot,” he said, spinning on his sneakers and walking back to Sansa’s desk.  Shoving his hand into the back pocket of his faded jeans, Lancel extracted an envelope.  “My boss said to give you this.”

“Thanks.”  She took the envelope, watching Lancel as he shuffled out of her office and shut the door behind him.  Flopping back into her chair, she eyeballed the yellow and black enclosure, squishing and squeezing the object locked inside the envelope.  Curious beyond belief now, Sansa tore into the packaging like a kid on Christmas morning, dumping out a flash drive and a folded piece of paper.  She held the flash drive in her hand, turning it end over end, wondering what in the hell Sandor was up to.  Finally, she unfolded the note, her crystal eyes scissoring across the page:

_Miss Stark,_

_Since your ability to dazzle the uppity-ups here at Lannister Industries hinges on access to your data, I took it upon myself to ensure that your computing system would be scanned tout de suite.  Far be it for me to cause the entire corporation to crumble because you couldn’t present your proposal this afternoon._

_-_ _Clegane_

Sansa felt like she was in the middle of a dream.  Sandor had made it a priority to get her computer back to her?  Since when did he give a rip about helping her?  He was the supervisor of the entire IT department, the overseer of countless geeks who could have just as easily scanned or defragged her hard drive at his command.  Yet Sandor did it himself.

Fiddling with the flash drive in her hand, Sansa tried to imagine what reason Sandor had for sending the thing along with her lap top.  Just as she was about to toss it onto her desk, she noticed that there was more handwriting on the back of the note:

_P.S.  I saved your recipe files on the enclosed flash drive.  Please remember that it is against corporate policy to save any personal data on Lannister-owned hardware.  Don’t worry, though.  Your secret is safe with me._

Sansa’s copper brows raised so fast, she was positive that they had flown right off her face.  Sandor had seen the fanfiction files!  Did he realize that the files weren’t actually recipes?  Sweet baby Jesus on a bus, did Sandor _read_ any of her stuff?

Not the most technically savvy woman on any given day, Sansa had her laptop plugged in and booted in record speed, shoving the flash drive into her computer so fast that she winced when she thought she might have snapped off the tip.  When her home screen finally surfaced, she tappity-tapped her keys and swirled her mouse, logging in and loading up the data on the flash drive.

There before her eyes was a single file folder labeled “Recipes.”  Gulping as she clicked it open, to her amazement loaded each and every one of her fanfics, still neatly organized and categorized by “Posted” and “Unfinished.”  A woosh of air escaped her lungs as she scrubbed her face with her hand, shutting down the whole affair, jerking the flash drive out of the laptop, and shoving it into her purse resting in the bottom drawer of her desk.

She was free.  Like a knight in shining armor, Sandor had voluntarily saved her from her own stupidity.  And even though he may have busted her for violating corporate policy, he was going to keep her secret.  Sansa could not believe her stroke of luck.

“By the book, eh?”  Sansa’s lips curled while thinking about Sandor and his oh-so-strict ways.  Maybe Sandor wasn’t such a by the book kind of guy after all.

Huh.   Maybe he wasn’t so hateful after all either.

Nah, he was still hateful.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Margaery's painfully accurate insights, Sansa realizes the truth right before deciding to take the proverbial bull by the horns, heading straight to the IT Department to confront Sandor.

“So, you see,” Sansa crowed as she took a bite of her spinach piadina, “I’m in the clear!  Seriously, what an idiot!  Sandor had the chance to nail me, but he didn’t.  Man, I bet he’d kick his own big ass right now if he knew that he had me right where he wanted me.”

“Wow, I can’t believe it.”  Margaery shook her head, meticulously arranging her chicken kabobs on her plate to ensure that all traces of unwanted veggies were not touching the grilled meat.

“I know, right?”  Sansa was on cloud nine.  She and Margaery had left Lannister Industries almost twenty minutes ago, and they were presently enjoying their lunch at Hotpie’s.  “I mean, I still can’t believe it!  Sandor could’ve turned me in to Cersei, but he didn’t.  What a moron.”

A devious smirk overtook Margaery’s pretty face.  “No, I don’t mean that I can’t believe that he didn’t turn you in.  He probably didn’t even bother to look at your files, just transferred them and that was it.  What I meant was, I can’t believe that you still can’t see the proverbial forest for the trees.”

Sansa narrowed her eyes under her buddy’s scrutiny.  “What?  What does that mean?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Margaery sighed.  She leaned on the table with one arm, grinning from ear to ear.

“Come on, spit it out.”  Sansa took another bite of her sandwich.  She knew that look.  Margaery thought she was on to something big.

“Sandor has a thing for you,” Margaery stated bluntly, nonplussed when Sansa started coughing and choking on her food.  She handed Sansa her lemonade, holding it in the air until Sansa calmed down enough to take it from her.

“You’re insane!” Sansa sputtered after taking a long sip.  She sat her cup down on the table and wrintled her nose in disgust.  “He _hates_ me!”

“Really?” Margaery giggled.  “Am I?”

“God, yes!”  Sansa waved her hands in the air as she spoke.  “I mean, ever since I started working here, Sandor has done nothing but look down his hooked nose at me.  You’ve seen it!  He always stands there all high and mighty and aloof, glaring down at me with those slightly hooded silver eyes, teasing me and making sure I feel like a total idiot every time I have some computer glitch or AV issue.”

Margaery was unable to resist smirking at her flustered friend.  “Uh-huh.”

“Now what?”  Sansa folded her arms in front of her.

Never one to beat around the bush, Margaery laid all her cards out on the table.  “I think you like him, too.”

That comment made Sansa gasp in horror.

“Me?  Like _him?_ ”  Apparently, her long-time friend had gone insane sometime in the last twenty-four hours.

“Cut the crap, Sansa,” Margaery sassed while setting her fork down on the plate.  “You and I both know that the two of you act like a couple of eight-year old kids.  He pulls your pig tails while you sit there and wait for it.”

“Do not!”

“Do too!”  Margaery laughed when Sansa’s eyes widened at the sudden onslaught of self-awareness began to seep into her brain.  “Let’s be honest for a minute, OK?  Your last few fanfics have made Rory sound more and more like Sandor with each and every passage.”

“Wait. . . _no. . ._ ”  Sansa shook her head vigorously.

Margaery continued.  “To be fair, though, Rory _does_ look a lot like Sandor, minus the long hair and burns, of course, but seriously, they could pass for twins.  And we both know how big of a fangirl crush you have on Rory.”

Sansa felt her stomach lurch.  The room began to spin on its axis.

_Nonononononono_

As Sansa slumped in her chair, Margaery reached across the table to hold her clammy hand.  “Look, Sansa, all I’m saying is that the two of you like each other a hell of a lot more than either of you let on.  I think that’s why you cat fight with him so much.  You don’t want to admit it to yourself that you want to slap his ass and call him Rory.”

“Somebody just shoot me now, please. . .”  Groaning loudly, Sansa lowered her head and rested it on the table.

“There is nothing wrong with having a crush on Rory _or_ Sandor, my dear,” Margaery added.

Sansa didn’t lift her head.   “I’m. . .I just. . .you think he likes me?  Really?”

Margaery cackled at that question.  “Yeah, Sandor likes you!  So, why wait?  Unless, of course, you two _want_ to keep up this little game so the sex will be that much hotter when you two finally do bang.”

“Oh, God. . .” Sansa moaned.

“Yeah,” Margaery laughed, “like that!”

After Margaery’s life-altering revelation, Sansa was fit to be tied.  She couldn’t finish her food.  She couldn’t focus on anything as Margaery drove them back to the office building.  She couldn’t answer her e-mails or deal with her coworkers in the Marketing Department.  And when it was time for her presentation, Sansa could hardly make it through the event before she was dashing to her office, sequestering herself as she thought ad nauseum about what unconscious secret her best friend had been able to unearth today.

Sansa liked Sandor.  She was attracted to him.  She enjoyed their little verbal sparring matches, so much so, that sometimes Sansa went out of her way to find things to need from the techies down in the dungeon just so she might have a chance to see Sandor.

How could she have not seen it if Margaery so easily knew?  Well, Margaery did have a sixth sense when it came to matters of the flesh, but that was beside the point.  Sansa was a smart cookie.  Surely, she should’ve seen the parallels between Rory and Sandor all along.  And between her and Sophie, for that matter.  Those two fictional characters always picked at each other when they weren’t fucking or fighting, and not necessarily in that order or independent of each other.  Damn, Sansa would never be able to watch _Game of Drones_ the same way again.

As the work day came to a close, Sansa powered down her work laptop, packing up her things and grabbing her purse.  Sighing heavily, she decided that Margaery was right.  There was no shame in having a crush on Sandor.  She could damn well like who she pleased, even if the object of her interest drove her batshit crazy sometimes.

Screw it.  This was the stuff that fanfiction was made of.  A woman on a mission to confront her feelings.  And tonight, Sansa was bound and determined to do just that.

Racing out of her office, hurrying to catch the lift, Sansa mashed the button leading to the IT Department.  When the various Lannister Industries employees all vacated the lift at the lobby, she shuffled nervously from foot to foot as she continued to descend to the basement, going over and over again in her head what she was about to say and to do once she found Sandor.  As the lift opened, Sansa felt the corners of her mouth quirk as she processed the irony that not so long ago today, she was hell-bent on flirting with any other techie _but_ Sandor.  And now, as she shoved open the glass doors leading into the Information Technology Department, she wanted to flirt with no one else _but_ Sandor.

“Hey, guys,” Sansa called out to the three computer geeks hovering over a work table full of laptops and sundry computer cables, “is your boss still here?”

Shooting each other a puzzled look, Lancel and Dontos shrugged their shoulders as Podrick spoke, hopping up from his seat on a stool near a mass of computers on a work table, “Yeah, Sandor’s here.  He’s in his office.  Would you like me to get him for you?”

“Dude probably sleeps here,” Lancel snickered while using his tiny screwdriver to open the shell of a laptop in front of him.

“You know it,” Dontos joined in with a chuckle.  “First in and last to go.  Always.”

“No, if it’s alright with you, I’ll go and fetch him myself,” Sansa said.  She held up her hand to halt Podrick before he took any more steps toward Sandor’s office.  Darting around the counter, Sansa briskly walked straight to Sandor’s office, feeling the three sets of bumfuzzled techie eyeballs boring holes into the back of her auburn tresses.  Steeling her nerves, Sansa inhaled sharply before knocking on the door.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Sandor engage in a verbal sparring match that will end decidedly different than all the others have in the past.

“Goddamnit!”  Sansa could here Sandor angrily muttering under his breath through the closed door, the sounds of his office chair wheels squeaking as he hurriedly rose to his feet.  The noise of his gargantuan feet slapping the floor as he stalked to the door caused Sansa to smirk.

_Irritated as always, I see._

“This had better be good,” Sandor barked while he opened the door to his office.  When his narrowed gray eyes looked down sharply, realizing that the gorgeous redhead was the person waiting to see him not one of his perpetually clueless computer guys, his black eyebrow just about flew off his face.  “Miss Stark?”

“Hey, Sandor,” she smiled sweetly up into his stunned face. She barely rocked on the balls of her feet.  “Do you have a minute?”

Nothing.  No twitch, no fidget, no flicker of movement.  He didn’t even blink.  Sandor just stood there silently staring at her like she had sprouted two heads.

“To talk?” she added, this time motioning with her hand toward his office.

“Uh. . .yeah, sure,” Sandor finally unfroze.  Sweeping the door open, he stepped aside to allow her to enter.  Quickly glancing up to see his curious-as-fuck subordinates watching the show instead of working their overtime, he snapped.  “What are you three looking at?”  Without a reply, the chastised techies dove head-first back into running their scans and diagnostics.

“So, this is command central?” Sansa teased him while aimlessly gazing about his office.  As she slowly sauntered around his desk, she halted her movements when she noticed the diploma on the wall.

“I suppose you could say that,” Sandor mumbled.  He shut the door while turning to face her.

“MIT?”  Sansa pointed at the framed diploma but looked directly at him.  “You went to MIT, and you’re working _here?_ ”

He shoved his massive hands into the pockets of his dress pants and rolled his eyes.  “Did you come here to chastise me about my choice of employment, Miss Stark, or did you have an alternate itinerary planned?”  

“Second choice.”  Sansa enjoyed how completely exasperated he seemed by her presence.  Except this time, she had a pretty good idea that Sandor’s outwardly annoyed demeanor toward her was completely fake.  She now understood that he’d been making a show of his vexation with her all of these months, engaging her in round after round of verbal boxing matches to hide the fact that he wanted her.  Thinking about how she had finally decoded his true motivation made her nerves tingle.

Removing her purse from her shoulder, Sansa laid it down on the lone plastic folding chair nestled in the corer of his office which was parked directly under his poster of Iron Man.  She had to bite the inside of her to cheek to not lose her self-control right then and there and to not burst out into laughter as she processed the irony of an Iron Man fan from MIT who was trying to avoid his feelings for a woman with the last name Stark.  Freud could spend a lifetime trying to unpack that jumbled sexual mess.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Miss Stark?” Sandor asked.  He tilted his head to the side as he scrutinized her like she was under a microscope.

“Call me Sansa, would you?  Geez, are you always so formal like that?”

“Respectful, you mean.”

Her mouth mirrored his smirk though she waved her hand in complete dismissal.  “Pfft.  ‘Respectful.’  ‘Formal.’  They’re practically synonyms.”

Her snide comment caused Sandor to chuckle.  “Well, I suppose I can call you ‘Sansa’ since it’s after hours now _._ ”  Wetting his lips, he continued.  “So, _Sansa_ , why are you standing in my office, anyway?  Afraid you’d miss me over the weekend, is it?”

“You wish,” she taunted him.  “I came down here to thank you for fixing my computer or whatever it was that you did to it today.”  Slowly, she began taking tiny, calculated steps toward him.

“Oh, really?”  His eyes watched her cautiously.  He was looking at her as if she were a hunter on the Serengeti who was just about to blow a tranquilizer dart into her target’s butt.

“And, too, I wanted to thank you for not turning me in to Cersei,” Sansa added.  Finally less than a foot away from Sandor, she had to look virtually straight up to make eye contact.  Christ, he really was freakishly tall _._

“You’re welcome,” he replied.  He retracted his hands from his pockets and folded his arms in front of his impressive chest.  “I wouldn’t feel too special about the matter, though.  I wasn’t in the mood to make an example out of you, especially since it was nothing but a bunch of recipes.”

Placing her hand on her curvy hip, Sansa challenged him.  “I’m not buying that.  You had me right where you wanted me but let me go.  You could have turned me in and watched me get reprimanded then fired, and you could have basked in the glory of ridding yourself of me once and for all.  So, why didn’t you do it?  What’s the _real_ reason you saved me?”

Sandor’s chest rose and fell heavily, the tell-tale signs that she was rattling his cage right about now.

“You think you’re the only person who violates corporate policy?” he scoffed.  “Well, you’re not, I can assure you that.  Like I said, I wasn’t in the mood.”

Unconsciously gnawing on her bottom lip, Sansa looked at Sandor as if she were seeing him for the very first time.  He really did look like Rory.  Well-built like him too, probably even more so than the actor in the television show.  The thing that struck Sansa in that moment was that even though she had plenty of fantasies about riding Rory into the sunset, many of those sexy montages that played out both in her head and on paper as of late were initially sparked by her snark battles with Sandor, not right after thinking about the fictional military-themed television show.

_Not in the mood, you say. . ._

“By chance did you look at any of my recipes while you were fixing my computer?”  Never one to want another living soul at Lannister Industries to know about her secret hobby (save for Margaery), Sansa imagined how funny it would be to see Sandor’s shocked yet aroused face while reading one of her smutty romps.

“Now why would I do that?”  Sandor asked.  “I don’t have any interest in cooking.”

Undaunted, Sansa took an impossible step closer.  “You might develop an interest in a lot of things if you had read over some of _my_ recipes.”  She could reach out and touch his furry chest if she dared, she was that close to him now.

That got his attention.

“What are you _really_ doing down here in my office?” Sandor warned not asked.  He studied her intently, his gray eyes following her tongue when it darted out to wet her lower lip.

“Just wanted to say thanks, is all.”  Sansa spun on her black pumps, strutting over to the chair with her purse and yanking it off the chair.  She marched toward Sandor once again.  “Enjoy your weekend.”  Brushing past him as she made her way to the door, she wanted to pat herself on the back, she was that pleased with herself for getting the upper hand in her dangerous game of cat and mouse.

When she reached for the door knob, barely managing to crack the door open, a very large hand shot past her head and slammed the door shut with her hand still holding the knob.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa finally gives in to her true feelings for Sandor, who turns out to be quite a fan of her fanfiction efforts.

“And just where do you think you’re going, little bird?” Sandor rasped from behind her.  His arm was firmly braced against the door just inches from her head, preventing her departure.  “This conversation is _not_ finished.”

Swallowing hard, Sansa barely turned her head to the side, garnering her a distinct eyeful of Sandor’s rock-hard bicep.  God, she had so many snarky things that she could say right now, but nothing would come out of her mouth; she was that tongue-tied.

Sandor moved forward, stepping into her personal space as she remained facing the door.  “Tell me, Sansa, what would you think if I told you when I opened your still-running laptop to perform the necessary diagnostics, a Word file called “Private Maneuvers” remained open on your desktop?”

_Shit!_

She could fee her heart thudding violently in her chest.  How could she have been so stupid?  She must have forgotten to close her latest fanfic and to power down her computer in her rush to get out the door last night to make it on time her yoga class at the gym.

“I’d. . .I’d ask if you read any of it?”  Sansa shimmied around in a circle in the slip of space between them, now leaning with her back against the door and staring into Sandor’s darkened countenance.

He drew his bottom lip under the top row of his teeth as he studied her closely.  After what felt like an eternity, he finally answered her question.  “I may have inadvertently read a few paragraphs.”

Sansa squeezed her thighs together when Sandor’s gaze temporarily lowered to her décolletage.  Her pulse quickened when his gaze raised and locked with hers.

“So. . .what did you think?”

God save her but Sandor looked utterly sinful.  “You’re quite talented, Miss Stark.”

“You. . .you thought it was good?”  Sansa knew she sounded breathless but didn’t care as he stared at her mouth.

Sandor nodded slowly, tilting his head slightly.  “I did.”  He leaned toward her, looming over her impossibly close now, crowding her on purpose.  “Have no fear,” he all but whispered, “I won’t tell corporate about your dirty little secret here at work.  Your secret is safe with me, remember?”

The sexual tension blazing between the two of them was so damn hot right now, Sansa felt like she was about to erupt like a volcano.  Before she could rethink her actions, she grabbed a hold of his red polo with both hands, jerking him forward to kiss him with everything she could muster.  When he let go of the door, reaching for her narrow waist and pulling her flush against his firm chest, she moaned into his mouth as he parted his lips, darting his tongue out to swipe it tentatively along her upper lip.  Opening wide, she allowed him to explore her mouth.  She grasped onto his long hair and hung on tightly as his hands wandered freely down her backside, roughly kneading her flesh.

Feeling his burgeoning erection nudging her stomach through his slacks, Sansa pulled back sharply, not releasing his head, trying to catch her breath and to process the dramatic change in the dynamic between them.

“This. . .changes. . .nothing. . .”  Sansa gasped for air, lowering her hand to rest on his chest.  “You’re still. . .a giant smart ass.”

“And you. . .” Sandor breathed raggedly in reply, “are still the most. . .infuriatingly haughty woman. . .I’ve ever met.”

Both lunged forward at the same time, each equally intent on devouring the other.  He shoved her against his closed office door, the thudding sound of the door rattling on the hinges echoing through his office.  Sansa, who was as equally far-gone as he was, moaned loudly when he lowered his assault, nipping and sucking on her creamy neck exposed by the v-neck of her blouse.  Encouraged by her response, Sandor slid his hands under her tasteful black knee-length skirt, gripping her legs, lifting her into the air, silently encouraging her to wrap her long legs around his waist.  Catching on quickly, she did just that, yelping slightly when he spun her around mid-air and sat her down on his disorganized chaos of a desk.

Sandor pulled back momentarily, seeking her permission to pursue this further.  Sansa, emboldened by the raging lust burning in his eyes, reached for his shirt, grabbing it at his waist and jerking upward, untucking his polo and shoving her hands under the hemline.  The delicious, wrecked guttural groan she earned when she scratched her nails on his hairy stomach made her core throb.

She gnawed her kiss-swollen lips, feeling the definition of his furry pecs as she explored his chest.  “Such a good boy.  Always so by-the-book.”

“‘By-the-book, eh?” Sandor replied.  He inched his right hand still wedged under Sansa’s skirt across the expanse of her thigh.  “We’ll see about that.”  He lowered his head to bite at her neck, effectively cutting off any witty retort that she could think of at the moment.  She felt his hand begin to roam toward her womanhood, slowly making his way toward his target.  And when his palm finally made contact through the multiple layers of cotton panties and silky hosiery, she couldn’t stop the guttural groan from escaping her lips.  Shamelessly, she ground herself into his palm, wiggling and writhing while scrubbing her clothed privates against his fingers.  She gasped when he finally managed to breech her restrictive clothing and brush his fingers through her wet folds.

“Oh, fuck. . .” Sansa whimpered the instant that Sandor’s finger made contact with that sweet spot at the top of her mound, twirling his finger in lazy circles like he had all the time in the world.

“Only if you ask nicely,” Sandor chuckled darkly.  He reared back and pulled his hand out of her underwear without warning.

Sansa hissed at him through clenched teeth.  “I hate you.”

"Tsk, tsk.  Such animosity," Sandor taunted, "and here I thought we were making progress."

"I'll show you progress."  Her hand darted downward, gripping his hardened erection just this side of rough.

“Fuck,” he gasped.  His eyes bulged when she squeezed, not ungently.

“Only if you ask nicely.”  She liked it when his face contorted into a delectable amalgam of appreciation for her ability to turn the tables on him so damn quickly and of honest-to-goodness hunger for more.

“You want to take this elsewhere?”  Sandor growled, swirling his hips as Sansa continued to cop a feel.

Releasing her hold of his manhood, she brushed aside a lock of his hair which was blocking part of the burned side of his face.  To her delight, he didn’t pull away.

_Funny how a little fanfiction got all this started today. . ._

“Yeah, let’s get out of here,” Sansa answered, not bothering to mask the desire  in her voice.

In a flurry, she shoved Sandor off her.  She rose to her feet and adjusted her underwear.  She stuck her tongue out at him when he laughed, turning to grab her purse, knowing full-well he could see her grinning as they prepared to leave his office.  She watched keenly as he lunged for his computer, smashing the lid closed, and yanked his brown messenger bag off the floor by his desk chair.

“Ladies first,” Sandor purred.  He jerked open his office door, using a fair amount of flourish as he bowed her direction.

“Remember that when we’re alone.”  Exiting his office, she remembered that three techies were still on the clock.

By the table full of computers stood Dontos, Lancel, and Podrick, all three young men frozen in place.  Their faces were scrunched into an odd mix of both fascination and horror.

Nudging Sansa with his massive hand, Sandor got her to step out of the doorwar.  “Go home,” he said to his perplexed subordinates.  “Enjoy your weekend, fellas.  We’ll finish these on Monday.”  With that command, he took Sansa by her hand, tugging her along behind him swiftly as the three stupefied onlookers gaped.

As Sandor burst out of the glass double-doors of the IT Department, Sansa burst out into a fit of laughter.

“What’s so funny?”  Sandor pushed the button to call the lift to their floor.

“Have you ever watched _Blackwater Down_?” she asked, grinning up at Sandor playfully.  She felt slightly dizzy yet giddy as they continued to hold hands.

“That über-cheesy, sappy love story marketed as an espionage tale?” he huffed as the bell chimed, signaling the lift’s arrival.  “Yeah, I’ve seen it.”

“Don’t like it, eh?” Sansa asked as they stepped on the lift.

As Sansa pushed the button to take them to the main floor, she glanced up to see the wicked look on his face.

“I liked your version of the story much better,” he rasped, pulling her toward him as he lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her hard as the doors to the lift finally closed.

**Author's Note:**

> "They were like two enemies in love with one another." - Fyodor Dostoevsky


End file.
